


Nature is Delicious

by slushieSkank



Category: Don't Hug Me I'm Scared (Short Film)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:10:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2800742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slushieSkank/pseuds/slushieSkank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A challenge is issued, and it, like all others, must be met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nature is Delicious

“Get that out of your mouth.”

It wasn't even a command, really. His tone was half-interested at best, distant and distracted. She glances up to him, pencil pausing in its ballet across the page in her lap. A stick dangles from her mouth, stripped of bark, fingers clasped delicately around the thicker end.

“No.”

He bristles at her response, finally looking to her.

“Do you have any idea how filthy that is?”

She shifts from her end of the couch, untucking one foot from beneath herself and placing it on the floor, “Do you have any idea how much I don't care?”

Honestly, he doesn't care, either. At least, not for her health. Most of the reason he's telling her off is because he knows it will irritate her. She always bucks at being told what to do.

“ _Disgusting._ ”

He scoffs.

“Nature is disgusting.”

“NATURE IS DELICIOUS!”

The unexpected violence of her reply startles him, slightly. By now the other three are all watching them. His response will have to be flawless, swift and decisive, something truly spectacular, now that they've an audience.

“Oh, really? So if I went outside right now and pulled up a handful of grass, you'd eat it?”

He grins despite himself at her face, the way her eyes grow wide, mouth working furiously, oh yes, she's beyond enraged with him, no doubt. The battle that must be taking place just below the surface, what he'd give to bear witness to it. Grappling between her repulsion for that vile color and her desire to challenge him at any given opportunity. Silence consumes the room for several moments, and then

“ _Do it._ ”

He falters, less than a second, imperceptible to the three Stooges, but he notices. Worse, so does she. It makes him livid. She assumes she's already won, looks away from him back to her drawing, when he rises, storming his way over to the front door, pulling it open with perhaps a bit more force than was entirely necessary, and then he's gone, outside.

A kind of chilly quiet falls over the room as they four watch the door in tandem, tense for his return. They aren't kept waiting long as he strolls back in, makes a beeline for her, extends his fist, palm down. She offers her own hands open, palm up, unsure what to expect. The fist opens, and a small wad of grass falls from his hand, lands neatly in between her own.

She stares at them for a moment or two. The stalks are slightly browned, thin from the cold snap that's been blowing in, seem more suitable for the lining of a creature's nest than for consumption. That fight flares up again on her face as he watches, satisfied, the tics growing worse with each passing second. She won't do it, surely, there's no way. As she had before, he assumes now, equally prematurely, that he's won, and is almost about to begin gloating about it when, in a flash, the wad vanishes between those deceptive onyx lips of hers.

He doesn't know what to say. Part of him doesn't believe it's happening as she stares triumphantly up at him, refusing to break eye contact while she chews, slowly and deliberately. She must be suffering enormously, but her face gives no outward sign of any discomfort whatsoever. To the others, the moment seems to stretch on into eternity, but he clocks it at exactly forty six seconds between the time the grass was gone from sight and a final swallow, opening her mouth immediately afterward and poking her tongue out to show that, indeed, it was completely gone.

Without so much as a word, she rises, straightens her skirts primly, and glides from the room, smiling like she's just discovered the next Marcel Duchamp. At the doorway to the room, she pauses, glances back over her shoulder at him still frozen in the middle of the floor.

“Nature. Is delicious.”

And then she's gone.

 

**Author's Note:**

> based on a true story.  
> the text title of this is literally 'EAT THE FUCKING GRASS.odt'


End file.
